


SuperNarnia

by Pacifia



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: Balthazar's tricks never exhaust. AfterThe French Mistakethe brothers find themselves in a fantasy land.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Peter Pevensie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	SuperNarnia

**Author's Note:**

> Now, before you read, a few things: This is set right after Supernatural's hilarious episode The French Mistake, when Balthazar, an angel sends the brothers to an alternate reality. It's set in season 6, which in itself came as a shock to me, since I don't personally like the storyline after season 5. But I had no other option and I wanted to make this believable. Also, Edmund, here, remembers more than he ought to, according to canon, but Lewis took liberties too. I'm rambling so much as I really would like to see this as only a very minor AU.

Sam stole a quick glance. But, unfortunately for him, the boy was looking at him as well. His brows went up. Sam rolled his eyes and turned away with an indignant huff. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the boy only scowled.

A feeling of awkwardness lingered stubbornly in the air, and it seemed only Sam was feeling it. The boy was humming nonchalantly, drumming his fingers on the pole he was shackled to. Sam repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the boy again, focusing on his escape strategy instead. It was plausible there were guards patrolling, but he had heard no footsteps, seen no one through the darkness. Maybe if he could get to the hairpin in his boot, he could free himself, and then decide whether to take the mysterious boy with—

"No use."

The first thought that struck Sam was: _he's British. British!_

"I've tried it. It won't budge."

Sam sighed. "You a mind reader or something, pal?"

The boy snorted and then chortled. "Nothing of that odd sort, I promise you. But, I say, you _were_ a bit hard to discern," and Sam considered it a poorly given complement. The boy tried to wiggle his hand from behind, waving at him. "May I know your name, sir?"

"Sam," he mumbled, squirming uncomfortably on the damp ground. "And who are you?"

"King Edmund," was the immediate reply.

Sam gave him a suspicious look, scrutinizing his lanky form and the rugged clothes that must have been some sort of costume once upon a time. He then laughed at the kid. "And what've you been smoking?"

The boy furrowed his brows with a quick frown. "I don't like cigars if that's what you're implying."

"No, I meant—oh, never mind." Sam looked him up and down. "You're what? Fifteen?"

"Seventeen!" the boy countered immediately, going defensive. "At least I'm not old and American as you."

Sam gaped. "I'm only twenty-seven and that last part was extremely rude!"

The boy shrugged. "Well, from what I can recall, Americans were a nuisance to be around. You lot don't bother about sanitation, or health, or proper etiquette. And worst of all, you call the wrong sport football!"

Sam's face melted into acceptance. "Well, not going to lie, that last one kind of bothers me too."

"It should," the boy decided firmly. Then in an apologetic voice, he began, "Although I suppose I might have been unfair in my judgement. The memories of the other world _are_ a little vague."

"The _other_ world?" Sam wondered aloud.

"Well, yes, of course," the boy said, his breath now frosting as the night grew colder. "I had naturally assumed you'd stumbled here too. You aren't exactly dressed in the most customary clothes," and he pointed at Sam's appearance with his eyes. Sam gave his clothes a look and then raised his head again.

Sam's brows knitted. " _Where_ , exactly, do you think we . . . _are_?"

"Why, in Narnia, of course! Well, not Narnia per se. But we're very close to Archenland."

Sam choked on a breath. " _What_?"

The boy frowned. "I said, we're close to Archenland, in the desert."

"No, I _meant_ ," said Sam. " _What_?"

"Are you daft?"

"No!" Sam said. He took a deep breath. "Alright, let's make a deal," he said, and the pale boy nodded. "I'll tell you my story and then you tell me yours. Fine?"

The boy shrugged. "Fine."

"Well, I _think_ , that I got zapped here by Balthazar, who is an angel and also a major—" (The word he said next was vulgar and would not look good here at all.) And hearing it, the boy frowned and admonished him for swearing. Sam shrugged his shoulders and said, "Your turn."

The boy frowned. "Wasn't that a bit too brief?" Sam said nothing and the boy sighed. "I was separated from my brother, knocked off my horse, beaten unconscious, and taken to this place. It ruined Christmas, really."

"Yours wasn't an epic tale either," Sam argued with little enthusiasm. "You know, we might just go cuckoo if we sit here in silence. Why don't you tell me about yourself a little?"

The boy cocked his head, growing paler by the minute. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, who you are for starters," Sam laughed.

But the boy frowned. "I already told you. I'm King Edmund the Just of Narnia, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of Western March, and the Chief Justice of Cair Paravel." Sam only gave a blank nod. The boy, Edmund, rolled his eyes. "Listen, if you've recently set foot here, I can understand it might be difficult to believe. I too was sceptical when I first came. But it's all true. I'm a sovereign of Narnia, as are my siblings."

Sam nodded absent-mindedly again. "Let's say, for a second, that I believe you. But, buddy, you can't deny you're _way_ too young to be king. What about your parents?"

"Oh, I became king when I was ten-years-old. And my parents are back in the other world," Edmund said.

Sam chewed his lip. "You mean they're on Earth?"

Edmund shrugged. "I suppose. It's been a while since we've seen them, my siblings and I." He smiled reminiscently. "My mum was the most beautiful woman, she smelled of roses, I remember. Dad's memories are fainter. But I recall he went away to the war before we came here."

"To the war?"

Edmund nodded. "The second war, yes."

Sam shifted. "You mean to say you're from the 1940s?" Edmund nodded again. "Well, I guess that's not the weirdest thing you've told me." He eyed the young boy again. "You miss your father, don't you?"

"M-hmm," Edmund replied. "I'll admit loving him more than anyone else. Then he went away. He was lost and it hurt more than anything else."

Sam gave a watery chuckle, causing Edmund to turn to him. He rested his head against the wooden pole, blowing out frosty breaths. "I had a father too. And don't get me wrong, but he was the worst father in the history of fatherhood. Although it was necessary, I guess. But we were never his sons, but his soldiers. He didn't teach us, he trained us. He never kissed us goodnight, never asked if the fall hurt, never gave us a hand," he recalled grimly. "At last it drove me away from him and my brother. I sometimes wonder if I hadn't gone, maybe dad would be still alive."

"That's rot."

"What?" Sam turned, baffled by Edmund's firmness.

"That is utter rot, what you said. You are not responsible for your father's death, Sam."

Sam frowned. "But you don't even know what happened."

Edmund shook his head. "I don't need to," he said. "Did you love him?" Sam nodded immediately. "Then you can't have killed him, no matter how apparent it feels, how plausible. Because you loved him, you couldn't have killed him, had you wanted to."

Sam rubbed his reddening nose against his shoulder. "Tell me more. What is it like? Being a king?"

"Difficult at times," Edmund admitted. "But my siblings are always there to help." He caught Sam's curious look. "I've got two sisters, you see, Susan and Lucy. And a brother, Peter. I'm the third oldest."

Sam settled more comfortably. "I wish I had sisters. I have had a distinct lack of female influence after mom—died."

Edmund's face contorted. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice like a balm on Sam's old wounds. Then he smirked like the mischievous teenager he seemed. "But, trust me, sisters can be a nuisance. Lucy (who's younger than me) has put chilly in my tea, stolen my crown, brought home a snake wrapped around her arm, and managed to get kidnapped even more often than I and Peter combined. And Susan." Here he shook his head with a soft laugh. "She loves to mother us. Even Peter, who's older than her. She'll bring us soup in bed if we're sick and force it down our throat, make us wear mittens in winter, and insist that we sleep at a proper time."

Sam laughed. "That does sound motherly. But I wouldn't mind it all that much," he confessed. "I mean, my brother takes care of me, he does. But there are just some things, that he couldn't understand when we were young. Times he couldn't comfort me because it'd get too awkward. And he _certainly_ couldn't give me tips on girls. A sister, though. A sister could do all things. I'd love to be fed soup in bed. Don't you?"

Edmund shrugged with an innocent smile. "I cherish her, that is certain. Relish every second I get to spend with her." Then he grinned again. "But once you've had years of it, the persistence gets annoying sometimes."

Sam tilted his head. "Fair enough, I guess. So, what about the younger one? Lucy, was it?"

"I told you. She looks for trouble." Edmund's shackles rang as he shifted. "But she's . . . Lucy. I don't think she can do anything that'll make me annoyed at her," and he laughed.

"Wears quite the charm, does she?"

"You've no idea."

A moment of silence that Sam broke, "Hey," he said. "Can I ask you something?"

"Might as well."

"I mean, you seem like a wise little lad, and there's something I've wanted to talk to someone about for quite some time." Edmund gave an encouraging nod. "If I brought the world to an end" —Edmund cocked an eyebrow— "just consider it hypothetical for a second. If I was the reason the world very nearly ended. If something like that came to because I, in my selfish need to get revenge, betrayed my own brother, do you think I'd deserve to die?"

"Yes," Edmund said curtly.

Sam stared at him in shock. "That was rude. You didn't even sugarcoat it!"

"You're not a child. You're older than me, you don't need to be offered candy and kept hidden from the truth," Edmund said. "So, yes, you'd deserve to die. Treachery is an offence, and against your own kin, even more so. And the entire story about the world ending, as unbelievable as it is, only concretes your sin. You deserved to be punished," he spoke harshly. And then his tone grew gentler. "But you're not dead, are you?"

 _I was_ _though_ , but Sam kept the thought to himself. "I guess."

"Have you wondered why?"

Sam frowned. "No."

"Well, you should start now. Maybe Someone wanted you alive because He loves you*."

"Your brain is older than you, kid," Sam said.

"And why is that a bad thing?"

Sam laughed**.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The door busted open, shooting splinters of wood towards them. Sam shut his eyes and ducked his head. Once there was silence, he lifted his head, incredulous.

"Dean?"

His brother smirked cockily, tossing a key in his direction, beginning towards Edmund. Sam picked the key and began unlocking the shackles just as Dean was freeing Edmund. "You alright, kid?" he heard his brother ask.

"I can do it myself, you know," Edmund mumbled.

And both the shackles clicked simultaneously, leaving Sam and Edmund rubbing their sore wrists. Grinning at the kid, Dean leaned out of the metal door, and hollered, "Hey! They're here!"

And almost immediately, a golden figure appeared, a relieved smile split a face, tall legs sprinted down the stone staircase, and trembling arms were squeezing poor Edmund, kisses planted onto his head.

Sam chuckled to himself and rose, catching the handgun Dean tossed at him. "You alright, man?"

He shrugged, glancing over at the kid and his brother again, who was still in the process of smothering him, asking whether he was hurt.

"They're cute," Dean commented. He wrinkled his nose. "A little sappy."

"You were no better before we died a hundred times," Sam replied wryly.

Dean only laughed in response and pulled out the knife from his bag. He drew some blood and wet his fingers with it. "Ready to go home?" Dean asked, drawing the symbol on the stone wall.

Sam smiled at the brothers who had finally pulled apart, and were blinking at them.

He turned to Dean again. "Yeah."

His brother smiled, hitting the wall with his hand.

And the room exploded into white light.

**Author's Note:**

> *After watching season 15 – "The sheer irony!".
> 
> **There should be a second part to this scene, where they discuss even more intense topics. But I haven't the time right now, nor the energy.


End file.
